Game On
by Paceismyhero
Summary: A/U prompt fic dedicated to SuzQQ. Puck is a college basketball player, Rachel a performer at one of his games. It doesn't take long for sexiness to ensue. Two-part story, part 1 in Rachel's POV and part 2 in Puck's. Rated M for part 2. Read and review!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I'd wanted to post this during March Madness, but as those who follow my stuff already know, life's been crazy and I haven't really been writing as much as I usually do. That being said, life is still kind of crazy, but I feel like posting this part so I'm forced to finish the next part. As the summary says, this is dedicated to SuzQQ, who gave me the prompt, and I hope it doesn't disappoint. Honestly, it is an awesome idea that has been a blast toying around with. I love college basketball and Puck dominating the court is definitely a delicious image. However, I should mention that you don't need to understand basketball to enjoy this story. As might be expected given the pairing, the basketball game is of little importance to the story. :)

The first part is going to be Rachel's POV, and the second part (that I'm working on) is going to be from Puck's. This part is probably only rated-T for Puck's mouth and sensuality (isn't that the crap word the MPAA uses?), but the next part will definitely be rated M. And last but not least, reviews (good and bad) are not just welcome, but encouraged. Enjoy!

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Rachel Berry stepped off the subway train along with her agent, Derek, following his quick footsteps as they split through the handful of people who also were visiting Hempstead tonight. She wasn't entirely pleased with her evening's plans, but she blended in nicely with the minimal crowd; no one else seemed particularly happy to be in the general vicinity of whatever was around this train station exit. Honestly, Rachel had no idea. She was simply giving her agent the benefit of the doubt that he wouldn't lead her nearly an hour outside of the city for no good reason.

"There's no place like home, huh?"

Rachel nodded, smiling appreciatively when her agent slowed his steps to walk next to her. "I don't want to appear sheltered or remotely stuck up, but I don't think I've been this far from the city since I moved from Ohio."

"They won't bite, Princess."

"I know that, Derek." Rachel rolled her eyes. "There's more of a chance running into _that_ kind of behavior inside the city." Her eyes roamed around once again, noting a group of what appeared to be frat boys walking in what she guessed was the direction of a bar that didn't card. "These people seem completely harmless."

"I wouldn't be so sure considering those heels paired with that skirt."

Rachel looked down at her attire, her mouth tilting to one side in contemplation. Her top was covered up by a form-fitting white rain jacket tied around her waist, but that was probably for the best. The skirt was a basic black, pleated number that might be a little on the short side, but nothing too scandalous, and the heels weren't anything special either. The outfit was picked from her best friend and roommate, Kurt, straight from her closet; he'd point out what an unbelievable feat that tiny detail was if he were with them right now. Luckily he was busy celebrating yet another anniversary with his long-time boyfriend, giving Rachel the night free of his biting commentary.

"You know Kurt." Rachel shrugged. "I'm his personal Barbie doll."

"Well Barbie is going to land herself a Ken in that outfit." He laughed at Rachel's blushing cheeks and her failed attempt to hide them behind the veil of her long hair. "Don't play coy, Miss Berry. It's been awhile since you got any, hasn't it?"

"Derek!" Rachel shrieked, her eyes darting from left to right before she realized no one had even given the pair a second glance. "You're my agent. Care to show a bit of professionalism this evening?"

"Fine." He sighed heavily. "Due to your punctuality rule, we'll arrive at the arena a couple of hours before tip-off." He paused, his feet stopping, too. "Do you even know anything about basketball?"

"Yes," she hissed indignantly. "My father happens to be a huge sports fan, wishing season after season that I would learn to share his love for any of the major league displays of barbarism."

Derek chuckled at her offhanded observation, continuing to explain the schedule of events to her. It was fairly simple, as she was only expected to perform the national anthem before the game and then a number from the show during halftime. After that her and Derek were more than welcome to stay – they were given their own private suite in the arena – but Rachel already knew she'd be spending the first half of the game convincing Derek that they should return to the city as soon as possible; the campus seemed nice enough while walking toward the arena, but Rachel didn't appreciate any place where _she_ wasn't appreciated.

Even in the largest city in the nation, Rachel was still recognized after passing the same amount of people she and Derek had passed so far in their journey.

"I'm going to go find the athletic director." Derek's eyes swept over the nearly empty foyer of the arena. "You might want to meander courtside. Talk up the show, you know?"

"Yes, I'm well-rehearsed in the routine." Rachel nodded obediently. "I'll meet you in the suite in an hour, before the press conference?"

Derek nodded before the two parted ways, Rachel's heels clicking loudly in the deserted hallways as she walked toward the middle of the building. She tried to appear confident, walking as if she had a clue of where she was going or what she'd do once she arrived, but her hands played nervously with the ends of her coat's belt and her eyes remained up and fixated on anything other than anyone she might pass. There were a lot of banners and large advertisements for small businesses, and before Rachel knew it, she was walking through a set of double doors that led her directly to the court. Well, to the second level, but from this vantage point she could see the entire basketball court.

There weren't many people sitting in the stands yet, which Rachel thought was strange since she'd been told this was such an important game for the home team. It was a winner-take-all type of deal, where one team would be advancing for a chance to enter some big tournament and the losing team would get nothing; their season would be over. Coming from a cut-throat industry, Rachel knew better than to wish both teams could win. She, however, wasn't supposed to root for any particular team since they were both from New York and therefore both potential patrons to _her_ performance.

"Ya lost?"

Rachel whipped around, her hair shifting in front of her face before she could brush it away back behind her ears. She blinked rapidly at the intruder, her breath a little shallow as she took in his appearance. Immediately she'd thought his voice was lovely, but, if she were being frank, his timbre was nothing compared to his looks. In a shirt that most men would deem too tight and a long pair of basketball shorts, the man's physical attributes were almost on full display – and Rachel liked what she saw.

His skin tone was golden olive, a mix of sun and a heritage that she was all too familiar with. It looked smooth, too, and Rachel wondered if a man would consider that a compliment or not. If not, perhaps it would be worth noting that it seemed particularly silky at the area of his bulging biceps. Plus, he had plenty of other features that were acceptable by any male, a strong jaw and broad shoulders just two worth mentioning. She could see mischief in his eyes, though, and the way his mouth seemed to be perpetually stuck in some kind of charming smirk were indicators that this gentleman knew exactly what she was staring at – and that she wasn't the first.

"No. My name is Rachel Berry and I'm performing at the halftime show this evening." She stuck out her hand toward him. "I'm the lead female star of the next Broadway hit. Tony-bound, for sure."

"Who's Tony?" He asked with furrowed eyebrows, his one free hand not securing a large gym bag atop his shoulder extending out to accept hers.

Rachel's calculated response about the Tony awards was lost on a quiet gasp at the calluses she felt on her palm once their hands met in the middle. She tried not to wonder out loud how he managed such a gentle touch with such rough hands, but she knew it was likely because the man played an instrument. She'd been in the music profession for the past three years and grew up surrounded by musicians; this gentleman might not look the part, but he at least dabbled with a string instrument of some sort. She guessed a guitar, but something about his attitude suggested something more.

"Name's Puck."

Rachel scrunched her nose up, her eyebrows cocking together. "No it isn't."

"Well, my friend's call me Puck."

"And we're friends?" She asked, a smile on her face and in her voice, matching the one that had been in his. She wasn't typically so forward (she could hear Kurt's voice in her head saying "_flirty_"), but, for whatever reason, she felt comfortable with this stranger.

"We've been holdin' hands for the past minute, so I'd say we're somethin'."

Rachel blushed at the rumbling sound of his laughter when she ripped her hand out of his, her hands wringing in front of her and her eyes cast downward to focus on the appendages instead of Puck. She closed her eyes tight in embarrassment, wishing she could erase the memory of the twinkle in his eyes when she'd been caught red-handed … by the hand! This time she heard her friend Santana's voice echoing in her mind, reminding Rachel how pathetic she was when it came to this type of thing. Santana called it bait and hook, but Rachel didn't dare even _think_ something so crass.

"Ain't no beef, babe." Puck chuckled again, his voice lowering. "I've had worse."

Rachel lifted her head abruptly, her scowl powerful and immediate. Everything that she once found attractive about the man in front of her was no infuriating, to the point that she found herself re-evaluating him without the rose-colored glasses that _must_ have been in place beforehand. Frankly, he looked like a slob, and that ridiculous haircut was not just immature but unflattering given its length. She wished Santana were here so she could call it something vulgar, like a landing strip, before the two strutted off confidently like they did in bars sometimes.

"Well, it's been a pleasure, but I must go mingle."

"Mingle?" He cocked his eyebrows together. "Ain't nobody here, babe."

"That is untrue." Rachel turned back to face the arena, her hand rising in presentation of the other patrons, more trickling in through the other side doors around the court. "Plenty of other people are ready for an exciting game and, perhaps, interested in theater."

"'Cause those two often go hand-in-hand." He laughed again, and her scowl deepened. "But, whatever. Good luck and all that shit; I gotta jet." He passed by her without a second glance, tossing one final salutation over his shoulder, "See ya 'round, Berry."

Rachel huffed out a breath, watching his form until the very last moment. He'd retreated to another set of double doors at the same level of the court, tossing a wave to a few guys lined up courtside who were proudly displaying their blue painted chests. Each member of the group had a yellow letter in the center of his chest, Rachel guessing they were spelling the word "Pride" even though the I-guy was currently sitting next to the P-guy. For the sake of the university, Rachel hoped the boys were simply relaxing before the game started and weren't actually that dumb. Then again, they were talking quite loudly and appeared boisterous for no particular reason, so she imagined alcohol was involved and that wasn't exactly a spellchecker drink.

Avoiding that group, Rachel walked to the other side of the stands to start her campaigning. She laughed along with families and spoke to couples about the romance of the theater. She answered questions about her training and the basic plot of the show, explaining elements of her character while _being_ in character. This wasn't her normal behavior. She was playing the part of the woman who depended on people coming to her show. It was true to her real life, but if she were being herself she would simply grab a microphone and wail that everyone who didn't come to see her perform was missing out. And even though she wasn't going to use that speech, she would have a microphone in her hand soon enough and knew people would get the message.

"Ya look kinda crazy right now."

Rachel shook herself out of her thoughts, focusing her eyes on Puck, who had stepped into her line of vision sometime after her daydream. She blinked in wonder, noticing he'd changed and realized then that he was a player for the home team. Hofstra was written proudly on the front of his jersey, the shine of the large #20 surprising her; it didn't look so big on television, but standing eye-level to his chest it was the only thing she could see.

"You're a player."

Puck scoffed. "Ya don't even know me."

"No." Rachel giggled for whatever reason, though in hindsight it probably didn't help convince him that she wasn't crazy. "I mean, for the team. You play for Hofstra."

"Oh." His hard expression melted back into the charming smirk from before. "Yeah. Number 1, babe."

Rachel lifted one eyebrow up in confusion. "Your jersey says 20."

"I meant skill level, babe." His smirk grew. "I'm the best."

"Modest, too," she bit back, his usage of the offending moniker starting to annoy her.

"No need to sugarcoat the truth." He shrugged. "And it ain't just true about basketball, babe."

"Please stop calling me that. I have a name."

His smirk tilted to one side, reminding her that Kurt's brother, Finn, said she had a lopsided smile sometimes that he thought was adorable. Rachel thought Puck's was just lazy, but in a sexy way – despite how much she didn't want to admit that. She'd already had him pegged for a ladies' man, and given his displeasure for the assuming he was a player Rachel figured she was on the right track. Player had a bad connotation, whereas a guy who had game was somehow completely different. At least that's what Kurt's boyfriend, Blaine, had tried to explain to her once when the conversation came up after a disastrous double date.

"I have a name, too."

"Allegedly," she remarked quickly, her eyes forced to watch the way he turned slightly to show her the back of his jersey. Small letters spelling _Puckerman_ arched above the repeated number, and Rachel rolled her eyes. "Puck. I get it."

"I pegged ya for being smart." His eyes roamed over her (not the first time), and she squirmed a little at the attention. "Probably straight-A shit."

"I dropped out of college, actually." Rachel was all-too-satisfied by the bulging of his eyes, the surprise evident. "And I have eleven tattoos."

"Fuck," he breathed out. "That shit is hot."

Rachel crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her gaze. "That's not why I told you that."

"Well then why did ya?" A devilish grin spread across his face when she opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. "We could save a lotta time if ya just admit ya like me."

"I _don't_ like you." She shook her head vehemently, laying it on perhaps a little too thick. "In fact, I find you repulsive."

Puck chuckled, his head bobbing up and down once. "Keep tellin' yourself that, _babe_."

Rachel fumed as he walked away, joining the rest of the team on the court. She willed him to turn back in her direction just once so he could see just how unhappy she was with him, but Puck was too busy talking to his teammates and what appeared to be the trainer. Even in the distance she could see the athletic tape on Puck's left ankle, and she hated herself for the moment of anxiety she felt at the thought of his playing injured; she shouldn't care, especially not after the way he'd treated her.

"You look too pissed to be gawking, so what gives?" Rachel turned to her side, startled by Derek's sudden presence. He must have sensed her confusion, because he explained himself further. "It's been almost an hour and a half. You were supposed to meet me in the suite after an hour, remember?"

"Oh! I'm terrible sorry, Derek. I was …" She trailed off, her eyes following Derek's and noticing him watching the players. "Shall I come back later?"

"Please," Derek scoffed. "I saw your flushed knees from up in the suite. What's his name?"

Rachel glared at her agent, wishing he wasn't also her friend so she could just tell him to shut up or fire him. Or both. "Nothing."

"Yeah, okay. Doesn't matter." Derek waved her evasiveness off. "Other than you'll be screaming it later."

"Derek!" Rachel whisper-shouted, her eyes lifting in exasperation. "Let's just go take our seats for the press conference. The reporters are who needs to know we are here, anyway."

Derek shrugged and followed Rachel as if she had any clue where she was going. Even if she did, she was too distracted thinking about Derek's words and the object of those words to really pay attention to the route. Luckily after walking in one full circle, Derek seemed to notice her absent-mindedness and led them to a room down a dark hallway, reporters and photographers already lined inside. Rachel quickly screwed on her performance smile, starting with the woman closest to her while Derek moved directly to the bigger names in the media world. Even though they were getting a nice suite for free, this was most definitely a work night and they each had a job to do; Rachel had to promote the show, and Derek had to promote Rachel.

"If everyone would take their seats, we'll begin the press conference," announced the athletic director after a little more than thirty minutes of mingling. Rachel and Derek found two open spots in the middle, talking quietly amongst themselves as the coaches for the two teams entered the room along with a few of their respective players. Rachel didn't mean to, but her eyes immediately found Puck's as he sat down, her cheeks blushing when he actually winked at her.

"Mr. Nothing seems quite smitten with you," Derek whispered into Rachel's right ear, earning him a roll of her eyes. "Perhaps you should take your coat off and show him the whole package."

"It's for dramatic effect," she reasoned quietly, re-securing the belt around the jacket just in case.

"You are wearing something underneath that coat, yes?"

"Yes," she hissed quietly, placing her hand over his mouth. "Now shush. People are speaking."

"Like that's ever stopped you."

Rachel ignored his quiet muttering, listening to the reporters bounce question after question off the two coaches. Apparently it wasn't just an important game, but a rivalry game between two teams with a long history. The home team was actually the underdog, and even though she was told not to root for anyone, Rachel found herself internally hoping Hofstra won; she'd always had a soft spot for the underdog, likely because she was one. If she had it her way, she would have been discovered years ago and already a world-renowned talent. But, then again, there was also a lot of merit to finally achieving a goal that had been so long-fought.

"Nervous?" Puck questioned after the reporter asked the simple question. "Not usually, but now that Rachel Berry is here …"

Rachel's eyes grew as big as saucers, her mouth falling open when all eyes turned on her. She could see the entire room outside of those directly behind her, but her vision tunneled in on Puck. He was grinning like an idiot and she knew better than to glare at him but it took everything in her not the jump up and storm out. She hadn't managed a good storm-out since high school and she suddenly felt very overdue.

"Of course I'm a theater fan. What's not to love?" Puck answered the follow-up question flawlessly, though Rachel's ears were burning too much to hear the reporter. "And this girl." Puck whistled. "She'll blow your socks off, just you wait."

Rachel had a million different thoughts circling in her head while the reporters moved on from Puck to the other players on the other team, back to talking about the basketball game. She wanted to be furious with Puck for his comments, but the truth was he'd probably just done her and Derek a huge favor. Apparently he was rightfully cocky before when he said he was the best, as he had offers to play professionally once his senior year at Hofstra was complete. There were a lot of people here to see him, and now they all would give her their attention when asked to simply because they thought Puck would be doing the same.

Still, for whatever reason, she had some familiarity with the young man even though they were strangers, and she knew exactly what his response would be if she approached him about his remarks. It probably had something to do with how much of Santana she saw in Puck, but she knew when he said he loved the theater that he was speaking abstractly; if she had to guess, she'd say he loved role-playing, which wasn't uncommon in men who hid their true selves (ie: _Puck_). And despite his validation that she was amazing, Rachel knew he'd never heard her perform and was more than likely just wanting her to ask him about his choice of words so he could turn it around on her and say something completely crude about _blowing_ other things.

Yes, she may not have graduated from college, but she did go to high school.

"You want to talk to him before we go up to the suite?"

"No." Rachel shook her head, standing alongside Derek and moving out of the tight space of the row of chairs. "I need to fix my hair and outfit before going back down to speak to more people."

Derek rolled his eyes but she ignored it, following him out of the room and toward an elevator that practically brought them right to their reserved suite. The room was incredible, far too large for just two people – and awfully luxurious for a university venue. It was high enough up that Rachel could see the entire arena, the players stretching on the court so small from so high. And yet, despite the distance, she honed in on Puck and wondered yet again if she had misjudged him. At first glance he'd been attractive and inviting, but then he'd come off as disgusting and invasive. Now she didn't know what to think, except that perhaps he deserved a second chance.

Rachel made quick work of her hair and retouching her makeup, finally removing her coat and checking the outfit in the mirror for the hundredth time since Kurt had picked it out. She was comfortable enough, but she wasn't sure if the top and the skirt necessarily went together. In fact, she'd suggested an amazing pair of dark-wash designer skinny jeans in lieu of the skirt, thinking Kurt would be pleased that she was actually picking up a bit of fashion sense, but he'd all but thrown up on her face for even voicing such a choice. This, he claimed, was perfect.

"That's what you're wearing?"

Rachel frowned at Derek through the mirror in the restroom. "That's not exactly comforting."

"No, you look … amazing," he finished after trailing his eyes over her body again. She'd fidget under his scrutiny if he weren't gay … and taken. "It's just funny."

"Because?"

"You really weren't listening to anything but him, were you?" Derek shook his head in amusement, filling in the blanks. "Your boy toy has a few specific teams vying for him." He nodded in her direction, as if pointing to her top with his head. "The Knicks are one of his top choices."

Rachel sighed, thinking that was just her luck. Even without meaning to, or knowing, she'd add fuel to the fire that Puck had already started in the press conference. Now it was as if the two of them were working together, he promoting her talent/show and her acting as a walking billboard for one of the organizations looking to pick up Hofstra's star player. If she were to the level of fame that she rightfully deserved to be, the paparazzi would be eating this up.

"Should I buy one of the school jerseys from the shop downstairs?"

"Are you kidding?" Derek coughed, shaking his head. "This is perfect. See if you can't get pictured with him. We could be on Page 6!"

Rachel rolled her eyes but Derek didn't notice since he was literally pushing her out of the suite. She had about an hour before she was set to sing the national anthem, and that time was meant to be spent speaking to the crowd. Now, however, she was on a mission to find and speak to Puck. Easier said than done considering he was currently preparing for a rather important game and likely wasn't supposed to talk to anyone. Or at least that's what one would have assumed before he broke away from the team and approached her courtside.

"I was wrong." His eyes traveled dangerously slow over her body before coming back up to focus on her eyes, his own darkening. "_That_ shit is hot."

Rachel smiled appreciatively, needing the jolt of confidence no matter how crass it was delivered. Plus, the more receptive he was, the easier her task might be. "Diehard New York fan." She bit her lip, shrugging one shoulder. "What other teams are you considering?"

"None now," he groaned, his eyes moving back down to her chest and then lower. "I still don't see any tattoos."

"Maybe later," Rachel responded coyly.

"Now we're talkin'." He grinned at her, moving the basketball he'd been holding under the crook of his arm, securing it on his hip. "What's a guy gotta do to see some skin?"

Rachel rolled her eyes at his question, wanting to point out that between the sleeveless jersey, short skirt, and open-toed high heels she was hardly covered up. Instead, she said, "Tell me something about you that I don't know."

"I'm the best you'll ever have."

"I said something I _don't_ know," she tossed back effortlessly, already have learned when he was saying something just to say it and when he was actually speaking truthfully – not that it couldn't be both in this case. Point was, she knew better than to be distracted by his somewhat off-color attempts at humor. "How did you hurt your ankle, Puck?"

"Puck? Are we friends now?"

She smiled at his teasing, but made sure to dish out her own. "You've been staring at different parts of my body for the past five minutes, so we're something."

Puck chuckled at the answer, dribbling the basketball between them once just to switch arms. It didn't take more than a couple of seconds, but the motion seemed to slow in Rachel's eyes. She watched the delicate way his fingers cradled the rubber sphere, made note of the dexterity it required for the action to appear seamless; she knew it wasn't as easy as it looked. And while it didn't make any sense, she was suddenly jealous of the basketball.

"Tell ya what. If I answer, ya gotta show me a tat."

Rachel contemplated the deal, going through the positions of her tattoos and knowing she could get quite a few answers out of him without even moving an article of her clothing. "You'll answer anything? Truthfully?" He hummed in the affirmative and Rachel suppressed her smile for just one more question. "And you don't think you should be practicing for your game that starts in less than an hour?"

"You ain't practicing your singing." He shrugged. "When ya got it, it ain't goin' away."

"Very well." Rachel nodded, not able to argue with that logic even though she would eventually have to leave to go through her runs. It wasn't because she was going to lose her talent, but it was a tradition. "I believe I already asked my first question."

"Oh yea." He fidgeted a little, and she found it endearing that she'd already forced his guard down a little. She knew she was about to hear the real story and not whatever he'd told the press or even his friends. "I twisted it dickin' around with my little sister last week when she and my ma were visitin'."

Rachel smiled, lifting her index finger on her left hand to reveal a red heart on the side of the digit. "Visiting from where?"

"Texas," he answered harshly, clearly frustrated as his eyes scattered around her body to see if any of the others were as visible as that one should have been to him. "I'm from a shitty little town in Texas."

"I'm from a very small town in Ohio," she offered as she turned her left wrist, revealing a gold star. It was her first tattoo, one that reminded her of her dreams and also of who she was. She adored it, and she appreciated the lack of ridicule she received from him after showing it; then again, he couldn't very well tease her about it the way Kurt and Finn could because he didn't know she used to leave a gold star sticker after her name ever since elementary school. "What's your first name?"

"Noah."

"I like that," she revealed quietly, showing another tattoo, this one on the inside of her left wrist.

"I like you," he admitted quickly, his voice hoarse while his eyes stayed trained on the song lyrics branded on her wrist.

"Why?"

His eyes flicked up to hers, that lazy smile creeping onto his face. "'Cause your hot."

"Why else?" She probed deeper, her tongue running over her lips absently while she turned her right leg enough that he could see the tattoo hiding just below her ankle.

"Ya ain't like other chicks." His eyes roamed over the bare skin of her leg as she carefully lifted her right foot out of her shoe and up to his knee, resting it there for a moment so he could see the other tattoo scrawled across the top that had been hidden by one of the shoe's straps. She gasped quietly when his free hand moved to the back of her calf, massaging the toned muscle gently while keeping her leg raised. "Your skin is as soft as it looks."

"What instruments can you play?" She asked in a rushed breath, moving her right leg out of his grip only to have her legs change position so he could see the tattoo on her left foot.

"Mainly guitar and piano, but I can drum a little, too." His eyes moved up her body, staring into hers again. Once the shock from her abrupt subject change wore off, he added, "And harmonica."

She giggled at the way he said it, as if it were supposed to be sexy. And, on him, it was – mostly because it drew attention to his mouth. Absently, Rachel pivoted her shoulders just a little, her hair falling out of the way as she reached behind her to pull back the left arm of her jersey enough to show the musical-notes tattoo hiding underneath the fabric. Her breath stuttered when his fingers danced over the skin above the tattoo, her eyes moving back to his face only to notice his were focused on _her_ mouth now.

"I'm running out of appropriate spots to show you," she whispered, saying words meant to pull them back to reality but reflexively moving closer to him instead.

"You could show me later."

His voice was so husky, so raw. She'd never heard anything like it, which explained the unusual effect it seemed to have on her. She'd previously thought the arena's temperature was set too cold, but now felt as if she were on fire. His touch scorched her skin, and his proximity melted her insides just as fiercely. Rational thought and logic seemed to burn away because the only thing Rachel could do in response to his suggestion was nod her head a mere couple of millimeters both up and down, her bottom lip worrying between her teeth as she waited for his next move.

"Don't fuckin' bail on me, Berry," he choked out, forcing himself away from her but walking backward toward his team just to keep watching her.

Rachel blinked at the sudden ache she felt, and not just in the obvious spot. Her entire body yearned for him, and there was an overwhelming feeling of disappointment that consumed her with each of his passing steps. The heat that had surrounded the pair instantly dissipated, and Rachel found herself shivering at the loss of warmth. She wondered if he was feeling even remotely the same, though at the same time she didn't want to spend a lot of effort trying to define exactly what she was feeling. For once, Rachel wanted to live in the moment and not worry about making the wrong or right choice, or how the choice might affect her life/career.

The only thing that mattered right then – outside of leaving what was now a packed arena to warm up her vocal chords and prepare for her first performance - was the fact that she had four more tattoos to reveal, and considering their placements she wanted to make sure the questions she asked Noah were good ones.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** WOW! You guys are so awesome. It's terrible, but the feedback definitely drives the writing, which is why I'm updating this in the time I had set for myself despite a complete lack of motivation that is taking over my life. There was a moment when I considered extending this story beyond the two parts, but I think this is the end. Hopefully it satisfies all (and you should let me know either way!). As always, thank you so much for reading (and especially to those reviewing, too)! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** It said part 2 was rated M. It did not lie. :)

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Puck was used to the other guys on the team giving him shit. It came with the territory of being the best, some ragging on him because of his talent and others because of the attention he got for it. And even though they all jumped on his back whenever _another_ girl would throw themselves at his feet, no one gave two shits about riding his coattails when said chick had a friend or two for the rest of the pack. But Rachel was by herself – dudes don't count, even gay ones – so the jawing started up pretty much immediately.

"She looks like a goody goody."

"Get your head in the game, Puckerman!"

"Have you had sex on the court before?"

Puck let comment after comment roll down his back, not willing to waste any effort defending what the team had seen or thought. It was a first, actually. Typically Puck gave just as good as he got, and definitely didn't mind laughing at himself because usually the guys were right; his standards were pretty low in terms of when and where, and he'd never really had a type before. But this time was different. He didn't care what his teammates said or thought. The only thing he cared about outside of winning tonight was meeting back up with Rachel and finishing what they had started.

What _she_ had started, actually. He'd kind of thought after the press conference that his efforts were a lost cause. In fact, he was fully prepared to settle for picturing her face and that rocking body while giving it to some other chick. But then she'd sauntered down the arena steps and those big brown eyes honed in on him and it was like there was some gravitational pull toward her. Nothing else mattered other than talking to her, and trying to convince her he wasn't the loser that she'd clearly pegged him as being beforehand.

The loser that all the guys said he was after they'd heard her sing before the game.

"I bet she's a screamer."

"You don't got a shot in hell, Puckerman."

"Definitely worth the high maintenance."

He expected her to be good; she'd dropped out of college to pursue her career and seemed too confident for it all to be a ruse. But, legit, when she opened her mouth and just the first few words of the national anthem came out, Puck was floored. She was incredible, and he again didn't care about what the other guys said or thought because he was too caught up in his own shit. Up until the game started, he couldn't stop wondering how such a strong, powerful, _huge_ voice could come out of someone so tiny. Then again, watching her while listening, he still hadn't figured out how her legs seemed to go on forever when she topped out at his shoulders, if that.

Then halftime came and even in the locker room hundreds of feet away, he could hear her voice. The Hofstra Pride were up at the half by five points, so they weren't getting that harsh of a lecture and he was able to half listen to the coaches and half listen to Rachel. He sort of felt bad about not being more concerned with the game, but he'd been on fire from the get go and the kid covering him still hadn't learned that he could hit the long ball. So he mostly just listened to Rachel sing, and found himself trying to figure out what she was doing during the performance; unlike the national anthem where she'd stood in one spot pointed toward the American flag, he could tell just in the inflection in her voice that she was moving around, likely trying to give everyone in the arena a chance to see her. He'd never heard the song before - that made sense considering it was supposed to be from her new show on Broadway – but it didn't matter.

Coming from her, he liked it.

And that was the really weird thing. He'd only opened his mouth to talk to her because he'd seen her from behind and between the long, chestnut hair and the short skirt and smooth olive skin … well, nothing. She was hot. Then she'd turned around and she had these big doe eyes and perfect pouty lips. He liked that he seemed to make her nervous, but somehow didn't wreck her confidence. Unlike most chicks, she wasn't hanging on his every word. She was a challenge, but not in the typical way. It was fun just shooting the shit with her, and she'd somehow turned a game of twenty (really only seven but he was ready for more) questions into the hottest thing ever.

Puck didn't believe in love at first sight, but he'd never really _liked_ a girl before, either. He'd had girlfriends in the past – obviously; look at him – but they were all kind of bitches. He'd only stayed with them longer than one night because they'd been really great in bed or another shallow reason. It wasn't ever because he actually enjoyed their company – or even visa versa. That's why he hated the player label because he wasn't doing it on purpose. Those broads threw themselves at him and, fuck. He's a dude. He's not going to say no. But he also didn't lead anyone on. He'd tell them right up front what he wanted and if they still came after him or thought they could change his mind, that shit was their fault.

He was an asshole, not a player.

But, it was strange. With Rachel, he felt like he could be something different. He'd always be an asshole, but he'd already told her more truths about himself than almost anyone else knew, and he was kind of interested in hearing more about her, too. She'd already surprised him once by revealing her nonstudent standing, and the sex kitten routine before the game sure shocked the hell out of him. If she honestly was some cool chick who was dynamite in the sack, too, then why would he just let her go?

"Let's go win this thing!" The coach finally shouted, re-energizing the group of players before they all ran out of the locker room and back toward the court.

The halftime contest between two little kids was just wrapping up, so the guys grabbed a few basketballs and waited by their bench on the sidelines. The other team hadn't come out of the locker room yet, so some of the guys were joking about how they'd scared them away. Others were talking about a few parties that the team had been invited to for later, and some were actually talking strategy for the last half. Puck, however, wanted to know if Rachel was still on the lower level or if she'd returned to the suite he knew the club gave to presenters. And when he'd turned to look at the seats behind the bench, his answer was a mere five feet away.

"Hey." He stepped over the bench seat and then up one row of chairs; she was standing on the stair of the next row up, but this way they were actually eye level. "You're fuckin' incredible."

She smiled graciously, her eyes shifting to her left and right in recognition that this conversation wasn't as private as their last one. "Thank you." She bit the side of her lip. "You aren't so bad yourself."

"I got game," he answered coolly, earning a melodic giggle from her. "You stickin' around or …" He swallowed a little more thickly than he would have liked, not willing to admit that he might actually be nervous. "Where should we meet up?" She hesitated for a moment too long and he blew out a heavy breath. "Ya said you weren't gonna bail."

"I'm not." Her smile turned lopsided, her head tilting a little too as she looked at him. "I'm just not sure I have an answer to the question." She shrugged one shoulder emptily. "I've never done this sort of thing before, and I certainly don't know the protocol. I can't very well tell my agent to leave without me without him knowing what is going on, and if you're expecting to keep this a secret then that poses an issue. Moreover, I don't know the area so I can't give a location that would be suitable for this type of interaction, nor do I have the means to find my way home … afterward. Plus, I …"

If someone asked, he'd say it was because he'd just wanted her to shut up, but Puck couldn't have stopped himself from kissing her even if she hadn't been talking a mile a minute. There was something sexy about the way she spoke, how she didn't care if what she said might be embarrassing or egotistical or even insulting. And, sure, he'd been watching her lips more than listening to begin with, which might have had something to do with it.

Not that he regretted the decision. Her lips were soft and perfect, tasting like some kind of berry, which was a total mind fuck. She'd been surprised by the embrace at the beginning, too, but then she'd been really responsive. Like, _really_.Typically Puck hated it when chicks tried to take control in this type of situation. Either the broad thought she was a better kisser than she actually was, or she didn't know how to handle being the dominate one. Rachel had neither issue. In fact, she was really good at being in charge and it was probably the best kiss Puck had ever had.

And they were in public.

"Oh," she breathed once they split, Rachel's hand moving to her lips as her eyes lifted up to his, searching him. "That was …"

"S-shit," he stuttered sometime between her two thoughts, his hands falling from where they'd moved to her hips and then lifting again just to run over his face in frustration. When he finally dropped them once more and opened his eyes to look at her face, he couldn't help but crack a smile at the worried expression that was staring back at him. "Ya know how hard it is to play ball with a boner?"

Rachel's face broke into a wide smile, then an incredulous bubble of laughter spilled out of her. "What do you think?"

He laughed, too, nodding his head in realization. "You're right." He winked, moving one step down just to keep himself from reaching out for her again. When had he ever had that urge when it came to someone fully clothed? "Jersey aside, you don't look like much of a ball player."

"I'll let you move my jersey aside later," she said just loud enough for him to hear, giving him a seductive wink of her own before she leaned forward and ran the pad of her thumb over his lips to presumably swipe away the color left from her lip gloss. "First, you must win the game."

"Is that a condition, babe?"

Rachel smiled widely, her eyes following Puck as he slowly made his way toward the bench. "I don't associate myself with losers, Mr. Puckerman."

Her words were like a spark to the flame that had already been burning inside of him. It fired him up for the last half, but it also made his confidence soar to new levels. Every shot he took sank into the basket, each one eliminating any doubt that his teammates and his past might have put in his mind about what was going on between him and Rachel. Unlike everyone else, he didn't have to prove to her that he wasn't a loser; she already thought he was worth it (completely sober), willing to take a chance on him when she'd obviously never done the same sort of thing before. And didn't that sort of make her worth it to him to do something he'd never done before either?

Tit for tat (pun definitely intended).

"Can you hurry it up?" Puck asked impatiently. The game had ended more than fifteen minutes ago and he still needed to shower and pack up his shit before he could leave. The coach had prepared a quick, good-game speech and told them all to bask in the win – responsibly, of course. The trainer, however, had a different idea in mind for Puck. "I got shit to do."

"Yeah," the young woman scoffed. "What's her name?"

Puck snorted in detest, remembering why it was such good advice when people said not to shit where you ate. The trainer was a student at Hofstra, working on her medicine degree or whatever. She was blonde and really kind of beautiful, if you liked that bitchy angel routine. She was the epitome of a good girl seeking the bad boy, and it didn't take long for Puck to move their working relationship to the bedroom when she started interning for the team. They'd actually messed around for a couple of months, but they'd ended things a little before Christmas break when she'd gone all psycho on him, expecting him to meet her family or some shit.

"Q …"

"No," she interrupted quickly, continuing to work on his wrapped ankle. "That's _my_ name. How soon you forget."

"Don't be such a bitch, Quinn." Puck sighed, feeling the last of the medical tape give way, the skin around his ankle figuratively breathing in deep. "Just sign the report and whatever." He leaned back on the raised chair, resting most of his weight on his two hands while his eyes watched hers massage his ankle. "I don't got time for this."

"She must be special if you're this worked up," she remarked lightly, inspecting the minor injury to be sure he didn't aggravate it during the game. "I'm surprised you didn't plow her during halftime."

"I thought about it. Believe me."

Puck grinned at the look of disgust that took over Quinn's face, any more conversation between the two of them ending then and there. After all, Puck wasn't lying and Quinn knew that. It was taking everything in him not to find Rachel and check off screwing her brains out and showering at the same time. The only thing stopping him was the idea that a quickie wasn't going to be enough with her, and he also had some deep-buried feeling of chivalry; like he knew she deserved better and it was his job to provide such. Unfortunately, even after another ten minutes before he was all but sprinting out of the locker room with his bag flailing behind him, Puck wasn't sure how he was going to accomplish such.

Especially not when Rachel looked the way she did.

"Hey," he greeted coolly, slowing his stride and really taking in her appearance. Her hands were crossed behind her back (on her lower back, which drew his eyes to her perfect ass) and her shoulders rested on the cool brick of the underground hallway that was meant only for players and arena personnel. Her hair was tumbling over the shoulder furthest away from him in soft waves, and her eyes were bright and smoky at the same time. She had a nervous smile perched on her face, part of her bottom lip wrestled between two rows of perfectly white, straight teeth. "Sorry 'bout the wait."

She shrugged softly. "I anticipated such after your team's stunning performance. Congratulations, by the way." Her eyes fell for a moment. "I overheard many of your teammates as they departed speaking of an allegedly epic party in the basketball team's honor." She looked back up at him, the doubt in her expression concealed but not entirely hidden by her long eyelashes. "I'd understand if you'd rather …"

"Fuck," he breathed, throwing his bag down at her feet and ticking her chin up when she followed the path of the discarded equipment instead of looking at him. "You don't even know how hot you are, do ya?" He pressed himself against her, smirking at the way her eyes widened and her tongue swept across her lips. "Lemme show ya."

Wordlessly, Rachel nodded and the two began walking out of the arena. They'd never decided on where this was all going down, but he followed her onto the subway without question. It was packed and gave the two an excuse to stand close, though it probably wasn't enough of a reason to justify the way the tips of his fingers found their way to the tops of her bare thighs, just below her dangerously short skirt. She wasn't complaining, though – she actually peeked up at him with this come hither look that made the whole thing a lot worse – and he ended up pulling _her_ out of the subway car without having any clue as to where they were going.

"Noah!" She giggled. And, by the way, not helping. "Where are you taking me?"

"Anywhere," he growled, moving through the throngs of people lining the city streets. He was super busy with finishing school and the season, but Puck loved the city. There was this insane energy that penetrated your soul, working through your veins and into your bloodline the longer you stayed. Plus, after growing up in such a piss-ant town, Puck liked the anonymity that came with being in New York. He liked not everyone knowing his business, and it was certainly a plus that he could bang a random chick and know the possibility of seeing her again was pretty slim.

"My apartment is this way." Rachel created just enough tension in his hold to stop them, using her opposite hand to point down the road. "And it's a lot cheaper than the Plaza."

He rolled his eyes at her smug smile, switching the position of his arm so it slung over her shoulders instead as they walked. It was sort of insane how perfectly she fit nestled against his side, and he wondered if it would have been like that with any other broad; he'd never bothered to check before Rachel, always more concerned about how they felt _inside_. Not that he wasn't thinking about being inside Rachel, but he was also really distracted. He'd been way too inside his own head all night, plus there was this crazy awesome smell surrounding him that he hadn't noticed before.

"Whatdya wearin'?"

Rachel lifted her head up, their lips inches apart when he tilted his head down. "It's my shampoo. Peaches and cream." She giggled when he closed his eyes, a quiet groan escaping from low in his throat. "I thought I was the one asking the questions?"

"I've got a couple of tattoos." She cocked one eyebrow up in intrigue, and he smirked in response. "One's growin' right now, actually."

"You're disgusting," she claimed even through her laughter, shaking her head slightly before focusing her attention back ahead of them. "No question."

He chuckled, tightening his hold around her shoulders just as her steps slowed in front of a tall building. She used three keys to get inside and then climbed seven flights of stairs before using four more keys on a door marked 7M. The place wasn't a hole, but when she opened the door he was actually surprised by how nice everything looked. Rachel was put together and all, but for a young woman who was really just starting her professional career, her place looked far more upscale than he imagined it would be. Intimidating, even.

"Nice digs."

"Thanks." She smiled appreciatively, placing her purse and keys on a table by the door as her eyes scanned the apartment. "My roommate will tell you he is incredibly talented in several different aspects of his life, decorating being one." Then she turned toward him slowly, the toe of one of her heels dancing on the floor as she sheepishly added, "He'll be out for the evening."

"Lookin' around, I'd say he's been out for a long-ass time." He knew what she meant, but he couldn't help screwing with her. The little huff she let out and the tiny, punctuated stomps toward what he guessed was her bedroom was actually hilarious and oddly arousing. She had a knack for mixing cute and sexy in a way that didn't just work, but fucking _worked_. "Is it the bodyguard or someone else?"

"His name is Derek and he's my agent, not my bodyguard." Rachel turned around in front of her bed, looking like she just realized she had no other place to go. "My roommate's name is Kurt and he happens to be my best friend from high school."

"How do ya know he ain't comin' back tonight?"

She squinted at him, but he kept a neutral expression even as he rested his shoulder against the frame of her door. "He's spending the night at his boyfriend's apartment. He sent me a text during the game telling me Finn was spending the night at his girlfriend's place, so he wouldn't need to come back to the apartment."

"Who's Finn?" He asked, noticing that questions seemed to defuse her anger. He liked her riled up, but he also wanted to do it in a different way. The forty-minute ride home would suck if he left with just getting a knee to the groin.

"Kurt's brother." She blinked, the hands that had been stuck angrily on her hips falling to her sides. "Kurt's boyfriend roommate." She shrugged absently. "My ex-boyfriend. My good friend Santana's boyfriend."

"That's a fucked up web, babe."

For some reason, he knew he'd ask more about her relationship with her ex-boyfriend afterward. He wasn't jealous (fuck off; he wasn't), but he did want to know if he had to kick anyone's ass later. Now, though, it was time to get back to their earlier game of cat and mouse. He reached behind his back and lifted his shirt over his head before tossing it carelessly to the ground. Maybe he flexed a little, but he couldn't help it when she stared at him the way she did.

"Oh." Her eyes remained wide, only blinking once. "I …" She stopped when he turned, showing her the tattoo on his right shoulder blade. "That's lovely."

Her voice had sounded so far away, just a quiet whisper. So the shock of her touch on his skin forced him to turn back to face her, his eyes boring into hers. She'd traced the outline of the small angel's wing with the pad of her index finger, the digit staying put during his direction change so it now rested on his right pectoral. Without breaking eye contact, Rachel trailed the finger down the center of his chest and over the contours of his abs. They tensed involuntarily but she just watched the way his eyes dilated, and he suddenly needed her wearing less clothes like, yesterday.

She must have agreed, because the next thing he knew she was pulling her jersey over her head, holding it shyly in front of her as her eyes fell down to the area right above her heart. Shockingly enough, he completely bypassed the sexy-as-all-hell-on-her cotton bra with lacey trim, his hand rising to first push the wayward hair back behind her shoulder and then gently caressing the newly revealed tattoo. He was again surprised at how smooth the skin felt even though it had clearly been tampered with. In his short experience with knowing her, he knew it was like a metaphor for Rachel entirely; she was this tough city girl who used harsh words to beat out the competition or exert her power, but she was actually super sweet and cool.

"Mine is for my mother," she whispered. "She was a surrogate for my two fathers, and died a few moments after giving birth to me." Slowly, her head tilted back up to look him in the eye. "Who's yours for?"

"My grandmother. Nana Connie." He pulled the jersey out of her grip, letting it fall at their feet. "She died a couple of years ago. My mom was always workin' 'cause my dad left, so Nana practically raised us."

"You sound close to your family," she remarked. "Why are you going to school in New York instead of Texas or somewhere closer?"

"I don't have the best rep back home." He shrugged noncommittally. This wasn't exactly the kind of conversation that normally preceded his conquests, but for some reason it felt right with Rachel. He wasn't just saying and doing whatever it took to get her into bed, and in a way it _was_ setting the mood; it was just a different mood than Puck had ever experienced before. This one was more sensual, intimate. "I just wanted to go someplace where I could start new and Hofstra gave me a football scholarship."

"You play football?" She asked, moving her arms up so her hands rested on his shoulders.

The tiny movement made a small tattoo on her left hipbone of two lovebirds in flight visible. And without even knowing he'd done it, Puck found his hands gripping her hips, eventually forcing her closer and her arms around his neck. He was mesmerized by the feel of her mostly bare torso pressed against his, and how he'd never taken the time before to notice this feeling with any other girl either. He'd had some crazy nights filled with hot, passionate embraces, but whatever was happening with Rachel was hitting a level that he'd never felt before – and they were still half-clothed for fuck's sake.

"Noah?"

He shook himself out of his thoughts, looking up from where his eyes were theoretically honed in on her tattoo and into her deep chocolate gaze. "I think ya owe me a tat before I answer."

She rolled her eyes and started to push him away, which, okay. No. But then she spun in front of him and revealed another small tattoo right above the waistband of her skirt on the right side. It was nice and all, but he couldn't help but trail his eyes over the perfectly toned skin of her back, moving closer so again they were pressed against one another. This time, though, his hands did not stay in a neutral territory for long, instead moving from her waist to cup the breasts he'd painfully ignored earlier. Rachel let out this little breathy sigh before her head rested back against his shoulder, and his lips immediately found their way to the column of her throat that was so perfectly exposed.

"I started in football," he explained while moving his lips over her neck, his hands finding the front clasp of the bra and unsnapping it effortlessly. "Hofstra dropped the program, though, and I ended up in basketball." His tongue swept up, moving to the sensitive skin behind her earlobe and then over the shell of her ear while he also pushed down the straps of her bra and let the garment pool at her feet. "And I'm awesome."

Rachel shuddered, weakening in his hold enough that he tightened his arms back around her waist. The way she leaned into him, trusted him to support her, it was a little nerve-racking. She felt so tiny in his arms, but increasingly heavy in his heart. When they moved, it was less like the predator-prey scenario Puck was used to and much more like a dance; they were connected in almost every way, their bodies touching as much as possible and their lips once again fused together. He never wanted to stop making out with her, which is why he was legit pissed when she pulled away.

For all of about four seconds, anyway.

After that, he'd realized she'd stopped because they'd meandered to the edge of her bed. She'd quickly taken a seat on the plush mattress and unhooked the belt barely holding up his jeans. Then, without a moment of hesitation or even the clichéd seductive glance up, her tiny hands managed to free his junk from his boxers and shove him into her mouth in record time. Hopefully not too hard, Puck had reached out in surprise and gripped her shoulders tightly while a soft curse stuttered out of him.

"S-shit." His eyes fell back in his head for a moment, but he forced himself to open them and look at her. "You're fuckin' perfect."

She hummed in reply and his eyes slammed shut again. He'd been blown before, obviously, but yet again Rachel was taking it to the next level. If he had half a mind to focus on anything but the feel of her wet mouth surrounding his package, he'd wonder if her skills had something to do with her profession – lung capacity or some odd shit. But then he felt his tip hit the back of her throat and what little thought he could have managed was forced to push her away from him, an actual gasp _from him_ echoing in the small room.

Once he pried his eyes open, he saw the question in hers and didn't even dignify it with a response. Not a verbal one, anyway. He simply mauled her lips for as long as it took him to kick away his discarded jeans and boxers, a task made a little more difficult considering he had to remove his shoes and socks beforehand. Nevertheless, once complete, he immediately sank to his knees, flipping up the pleading of her skirt and throwing her panties somewhere near the matching bra he'd removed earlier. As he undid the clasps of her high heels, he again saw the tattoos she'd revealed earlier and he couldn't help but press a light kiss to the two on her right foot and then continue his journey upward.

"Noah," she sighed, her head falling back after she'd attempt to lift it just to look at him.

He liked the sound of his name coming off her lips, and if he wasn't already hard as a rock he'd definitely be sprouting wood wondering how she'd sound once she came. Chick had a set of lungs on her and a range unmatched by many. It could go down a lot of different ways and the anticipation was almost as hot as he knew finding the answer would no doubt be. He'd already been rewarded a multitude of different sounds based on different areas he touched, the best so far being the drawn out moan Rachel had released when he'd swiped his tongue across the back of her knee; that one was definitely being jotted down in his memory for future reference.

"Noah, please," she pleaded after he nibbled on the inside of her thigh lightly. "Oh!"

He smirked even as he buried his face between her thighs, his tongue swiping over her center one more time before he reached up to steady her hips. He made her legs droop over his shoulders while he paid her private area the same generous attention she'd paid his, his hands eventually sloping down to grip her ass once she'd stopped squirming. Much like Rachel wasn't the first chick to blow him, she wasn't the first he'd gone down on, and yet again there was something new and exciting about it with her. She was like an instrument, a different sound escaping from her depending on what he did. If he drove his tongue deep into her, he heard a long, satisfied groan. If he teased her clit, the sound was much more high-pitched. And when he managed the perfect combination of everything, she let out a happy gasp followed by his name stretched out in a breathy sound that would forever remain in his spank bank.

"Ya ready, babe?" He asked even while pulling a condom from his jeans. He'd legit kill himself if she said no, but she'd got this dazed look in her eye after she came that made him pretty sure she was still game.

"I want you, Noah."

The strength in her voice surprised him, as did the way she pushed him onto his back as soon as he'd gotten the condom on. She sank onto his dick with such conviction, both of them moaning at the feeling of their bodies connecting. His hands immediately moved to her hips while hers fell to his chest, both of them moving perfectly in sync instead of either trying to dominate the situation. Then again, he was getting off just watching her throw her head back and enjoy the ride, so he didn't necessarily feel like he had to steer – physically, anyway.

"Ya like that, baby?" He tightened his grip when she hummed in reply. "You're so fuckin' tight." Her movements were turning frantic, her head almost thrashing from side to side. "Tell me what ya want."

"You."

She'd said it more like a reflex than an answer that Puck couldn't help the pride and the testosterone that overcame him at that moment. This beautiful, sexy, intelligent, successful woman who was so brutally honest with her emotions didn't want anything or anyone but him. And he couldn't (quite literally) lay back and let this shit go down any longer without showing her just how good it could be between them. He had to touch more of her, kiss more of her.

So he did.

He hinged off the floor and swallowed Rachel's cry of pleasure at the new angle, driving his tongue inside the moist cavern of her mouth while his hands moved to the small of her back. Her olive skin was slick with a sheen of sweat; just sliding his hands over the gentle slope of her spine caused an unprecedented urge to taste it on her, and he removed his tongue from her mouth just long enough to lick from her collarbone all the way up her neck and then her ear. Rachel whimpered and tried to keep him as close as possible as her nails dug into his back, but he couldn't help but pull back a little. His sight was hazy at best, but through half-hooded lids Puck saw Rachel's last tattoo hiding below her hairline.

"I'll owe ya," he grunted, biting the area where her shoulder met her neck before finishing his task of switching their positions. With Rachel now on her back, he was able to pound into her without abandon, only slowing up to watch the way her face contorted in pleasure. Her touch at his sides was light, the complete opposite of the desperate hold her legs had wrapped around his waist. After what was basically hours of mental foreplay paired with _actual_ foreplay, Puck was seconds away from blowing his wad and couldn't have been happier to hear the telltale sounds of Rachel's impending orgasm than he was at the first high-pitched gasp.

"Noah!"

Puck's forehead dropped to Rachel's shoulder as the feel of her walls clamping around him sent him over the edge, too. He could feel her heart beat pulsating under her skin, the blood rushing through the veins until her whole body relaxed. Struggling to keep his weight off of her as he came down from his own high, Puck managed to collapse to her side, his breathing harsh and uneven. Slowly, he turned his head just to see her mimicking the motion, their eyes meeting and holding the other's gaze.

"So," she began, her breath regulating a little quicker than his own. "I only have one more question?"

He nodded in agreement, knowing that had been the deal and appreciating the excuse not to get up and get out. It was his typical move, but even on the floor in her small bedroom Puck couldn't help but feel extremely comfortable. He didn't even brush her off when Rachel moved to her side, her leg tangling with his while her hand moved up and down his torso methodically. He encouraged it, actually, turning so he was on his side, too, his right hand grazing up and down her back.

"Would you like to do that again?"

Puck's gaze shot back up to Rachel's eyes, a slow, satisfied smile crossing his face once he saw the twinkle in hers shine back at him. She let a lopsided smile slip when she got her answer in a much less verbal way, feeling him respond to her question before he could answer it. And while he didn't have all the answers – like whether or not they might work past one night – he did have one to her last question.

"Game on, Berry."


End file.
